


forgiveness grounds

by orphan_account



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: M/M, and arthur is mad at him and stuff, and it gets gay, this is set after john left for over a year and came back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: One day felt different than all of the others. Even though it was still morning and Arthurs face was still buried deep in his pillow, his blanket pulled up over half of his face, he felt a changing. Maybe the feeling came with a familiar set of hooves running into their camp near Blackwater, maybe it was the loud commotion and the yells of a name he had tried to forget.





	forgiveness grounds

One day felt different than all of the others. Even though it was still morning and Arthurs face was still buried deep in his pillow, his blanket pulled up over half of his face, he felt a changing. Maybe the feeling came with a familiar set of hooves running into their camp near Blackwater, maybe it was the loud commotion and the yells of a name he had tried to forget. Due to his stomach rumbling and his nerves unsettling, he sat up in his small bed, stretching and yawning, before getting up and putting on his clothes. He deliberately took his time, in no need for a rush to go outside and confirm what he had already thought. What he had already feared. Putting on his belt, he made sure to shove his gun into its holster on it and then took a deep breath, an attempt to simmer down his already building up anger, and opened the flaps of his tent.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly over their small camp in the desert, illuminating everything in a golden hue. All the way over here, he could hear the workings in Blackwater, the shouting of fellers in a rush, the horses whinnying as they had to drag along heavy stagecoaches, the drunken people protesting as they’re being thrown out of the saloon.  
A faint smell of coffee started hitting his nose and that‘s when he noticed everybody looking at him, anticipating something. Anticipating his inevitable outburst. And that was when he spotted John fucking Marston standing right in the middle of them all, facing him, a big grin on his face. The man who had decided to abandon all of them for reasons that nobody cared to listen to had decided to return. Without giving the man any more than a condescending glance or the others the satisfaction of being right about his reaction, he started up and towards the campfire, grabbed himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and turned on his heel and went off towards his tent again.

Inside and away from everybody else, it was hard for him to control his emotions, to keep down his anger and the feeling of betrayal that had never left his body alone for over a year now. Before he heard anything, Arthur saw. He saw the shadow of somebody lean standing in front of his tent, saw the shadow move slightly, getting bigger as the person neared. Then, he heard rustling right on the outside of the opening of his tent, heard somebody shuffling their feet in hesitation, kicking around stones mindlessly. „Arthur,“ John then said, his voice filled with regret. Arthur didn‘t answer him.

At the same time as one of the flaps opened and John peeked his face in, Arthur sat down on his bed, decidedly not looking at the other man. To the question of „Can I come in?“ Arthur simply replied with a grunt and a wave of his hand and the words „Is a free country.“ He still wasn’t facing John.  
Taking this as a yes, John wandered inside, tentatively sitting down next to Arthur on the bed. Arthur felt the familiar dip of the bed as additional weight was put onto it. „You got it nice in here,“ was all John had as a measly attempt to start a conversation.  
„Sure,“ the underlying anger was clearly audible but since John had the brains of a chicken and an even worse set of social skills, he didn‘t notice.

All of his attempts to not get angry, or throw punshes, or make John leave dissipated in thin air when John said „You could talk to me, you know?“  
„Ah, now you want to talk?“ Arthur replied, his voice barely a whisper, a warning. „Yes, Arthur.“

Attempting to not get any unwanted attention onto the two to prevent anybody from barging in, Arthur kept his voice down low „You left for over a goddamn year, what about the times that I wanted to talk but couldn‘t?“

Silence stretched on like a dying lifeline, all sounds from outside had ceased, it felt as though everybody was listening, anticipating the next words. The vultures that had been roaming around above their camp for the past few days now seemed to have left. The small lizard that Arthur sometimes caught a glimpse of inside of his tent wasn‘t to be found now. Noboy was talking in the camp, and if they were, they did it quietly and in hushed whispers, making no sound. Everything decided to leave just as John decided to return.

„What choice did I have?“ Despite all of his efforts to prevent it, Arthur quickly got onto his feet, his voice booming inside the tent as he answered „What choice did you have?! You had hundreds of choices but you decided for the one where you just upped and left. You left your family behind, Marston.“ He pointed an accusing finger at the still sitting man. „You left your family. Ain‘t no excused for that.“ His voice had calmed again upon saying those last two sentences, defeated.

John looked around, fumbling with his words the way he was fumbling with his fingers nervously „I- Abigail and Jack ain‘t my family. They ain‘t never been.“  
„They ain‘t the only ones I meant.“ Arthur replied with a deep breath, now turning around to not face John anymore, instead deciding to look at the fabric of his tent. It was plain cotton, dyed with a greenish color. Arthur quite liked it.

Arthur could almost hear Johns brain working, trying to process what he had just said, even without looking at him. He knew him to do that. But, again, John was just too damn stupid to realize what Arthur had meant „Who else did I leave then, huh?“  
Taking a deep breath, trying to regain his calm posture, Arthur said „Me. Dutch, Hosea. Everybody.“

„Thought I was the one always fucking things up for you, thought you was gonna have a goddamn party when I left.“ John was getting agitated, Arthur could tell by the way he had answered without taking a breath between his words. By the way he had stumbled over them and by the way his breathing had increased afterwards, coming in quick succession.

After a long and tedious pause, Arthur said „You is family, John. We love you. I- We felt betrayed when you left.“  
„I‘m sorry, I wasn‘t-“ Arthur interrupted his poor attempt at an apology „No. You wasn‘t.“

Then Arthur opened the two flaps of the tent with both of his hands and exited without another word. He marched over to the hitching posts and mounted Boadicea, leaving without a glance behind himself. Everybody in camp knew that he would be back by the setting sun, so nobody deemed it necessary following him. Had Arthur looked back he would have seen John, standing outside of his tent, his hand still on the right flap of the entrance, staring after him with a forlorn look in his wild eyes.

Riding, for him, felt freeing, he could feel the wind blowing on his hair and on his face, could hear the constant rattling of the supplies in his satchel, could smell all kinds of things depending on where he went. He didn’t realize where he was heading until he caught his bearings and noted that he was riding towards the quiet town of Strawberry. The nearer he got the more trees started forming and the more people he met. At one point, a woman had stopped him and asked him for help, seeking somebody to bring her back to her home in Strawberry. Arthur had offered her his help, and then he wasn‘t alone for the rest of the ride.

She had said her name was Elizabeth and that she was out riding with her horse when her horse bucked her and ran off when it spotted a snake in the deep grass. Arthur asked her is she had been hurt falling off, when she answered with no, he let out a small sigh of relief. Holding on tightly onto Arthur, the lady kept talking to him, retelling old tales of her adventures with her old father before he had passed away. Arthur quite enjoyed listening to her.

Riding into Strawberry, they passed a big gate with the name hammered into it, and Elizabeth told him the directions to her home. Once he had helped her off the big mares back, she had offered for him to accompany her for a quick drink as a thank you.

Declining gratefully, he mounted Boadicea again, before turning back to Elizabeth. She was smiling up at him and then offered for him to come by any time that he pleased, and that she would like to chat to him again sometime. „You‘re a good man, Mister,“ she said before entering her home. „I ain‘t,“ he answered but only received a doubting look by the woman before she turned around and closed the big door behind her. He decided to visit her again as soon as he could.

Deciding to go for a quick hunt to take his mind off of everything, Arthur trotted into the woods near the quiet town on Boadicea. Arriving at a clearing illuminated by the yellow afternoon sun, he dismounted his mare and hitched her onto a tree, patting her and giving her an apple before taking his rifle off of the sadle and leaving her there.

After a quite successful hunt, Arthur returned to his loyal mare with a doe slung around his shoulders and a rabbit in his hand. He stowed the doe onto the horses back and hung the rabbit onto the side of the saddle before mounting the mare again. Upon kicking its side and whistling, Boadicea got into a trot and took Arthur back to camp. Back to John waiting for him.

He arrived in the late evening, the sun already having set a long time ago, having been replaced by the white glow of the moon. Taking the deer and the rabbit off of his horse, he waltzed over to Pearsons wagon, dropping both of the carcasses onto the ground. Everybody had gathered around the fire, celebrating Johns return. Celebrating mainly meant for them that everybody drank as much as they could and sang and danced until the moon left them again.  
Dutch had called for Arthur to join them but he declined with the wave of his hand and left for his tent. On his way there he noticed Abigail sitting alone next to her tent, attempting to read a pamphlet that Hosea had handed her a few days ago. „For you to learn a bit,“ he had told her.

Deciding to accompany her for a while, Arthur walked over to her, sitting onto the ground next to her with a groan. „We is the only ones not joining in on the party, huh?“ Arthur started. Abigail replied by putting away her pamphlet with a quiet groan of frustration. „That man sure thinks he can do anything. He hasn‘t said one word to me yet, neither to little Jack. The boy cried for an entire hour, Arthur.“

The rage Arthur seemed to have forgotten had returned and he quickly stood up, marching over towards everybody else. When he had reached them he stood behind John, reached out and pulled him off of the crate he had been sitting on. Throwing the man onto the ground, he sat on top of him and threw around three punches at John before he was being pulled off of him. Dutchs voice rang out through the entire campsite „Enough!“. Arthur just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stomped towards his tent, entered it and sat on the bed again. His breathing was out of control, too heavy and short, and Arthur had to will it to even out. Leaning forwards, he was holding his head in his hands, his arms resting on his spread out knees.

Thats when he noticed that the vultures must have returned, by the sound of it. And the wind had started howling, sounding as though it agreed with Arthurs anger. 

And then John entered again, his face had been cleaned from the blood and bandaged up. „What is your problem?“ He demanded from the tents entrance,  
standing with his arms crossed.  
„Abigail told me you didn‘t even talk to her or Jack for a goddamn second.“ Arthur gritted out between his teeth, looking at the ground instead of at John. He was focusing on the dust falling on the ground before his eyes. 

„That doesn‘t concern you, Morgan.“ Somehow that answer made Arthurs fury rise up even more. „Sure it ain‘t.“  
Sometimes, Arthur thought that John wasn‘t quite as dumb as he always thought he was. Maybe John was even smarter than him but he just acted dumb and then took everybody by surprise. The advantage of being underestimated. This was one of those times. „That ain‘t the only reason, Arthur. I can see it.“

„And where the hell is you seeing that?“ He tried to evade the question.  
John took a step closer, letting the flaps of the tent hang loose as he now fully stood in the tent. „In your eyes.“  
Snorting in reply, Arthur started fiddling with his fingers, his anger having calmed down now, having been replaced by fear. Arthur tried to act nonchalant, act as though his secret wasn‘t close to being unveiled right before his eyes, without him even being able to prevent it.

He heard the sound of feet shuffling again, nervously. Heard the sound of their family still sitting around the crackling fire, drinking and singing soundly. He felt the creaking of his bed, the slow dip next to him, as John sat down to his right. When he turned over to look at the other man, John crashed into him, kissing him fiercely. Johns hand was holding onto his cheek, the other one was fisting itself into the front of Arthurs shirt, pulling him closer. Surprise was quickly overpowered by something else, a tingling sensation everywhere John touched him. Arthur kissed back, his hands flying to both sides of Johns face, pulling him impossibly closer, stroking his cheek with his right thumb.

After a few seconds, John pulled away lightly. Their foreheads were still touching, and their eyes were still closed. „You can‘t just do this and expect me to not be angry anymore,“ Arthur whispered against Johns lips. John quietly chuckled „But it‘s a start, ain‘t it?“

„Shut it, Marston.“ And when Arthur kissed him again, he knew that he would be able to forgive John.

**Author's Note:**

> howdy fellers, i wrote a small oneshot again. i hope you guys enjoy!


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